


shook my bones (three times)

by flimsy



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Future Fic, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 23:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flimsy/pseuds/flimsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three post-tour vignettes.</p>
<p> <br/><i>“I know,” Louis says. Liam can almost see him smile. “Do you miss us? We miss you. Niall is staying at Zayn’s and I think they’re about to get terrible tummies because of their McDonald’s habit.” </i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	shook my bones (three times)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kate and Kayla for beta and hand-holding!

i.

“Yo,” Liam lamely says into the telephone and instantaneously regrets it. He bites his lip and clears his throat, settling against the kitchen counter. “I mean, hullo.”

From the other end of the line, Louis’ voice sounds through with bright laughter. “Yo? Li, you have _clearly_ been away from the cool kids for too long at this point. Yo is obsolete.” Liam knows Louis is joking and teasing and trying to get a rise out of him because that’s exactly the way that Louis shows affection, but it still gets to him. 

“It’s not my fault all of you are all the way in London.” He’s not really complaining though, since he’s missed his mum so much and his sisters too. Going back to London soon for when recording starts again makes the few weeks he’s been here seem short. 

“I know,” Louis says. Liam can almost see him smile. “Do you miss us? We miss you. Niall is staying at Zayn’s and I think they’re about to get terrible tummies because of their McDonald’s habit.” 

Liam laughs and shakes his head. “Really? You should stop them.”

“I try, I try, alas, it’s all for nothing.” A short silence; Liam can hear Louis’ naked feet squeak against the floor. He never sits still when he’s on the phone, walking endless circles, sometimes until he gets dizzy and topples over. Liam’s seen it all happen. “Niall and I went to this place the other night where you could draft your own beer. You have these tables and in the middle is a tap! Just for the table! Can you imagine?” 

Liam hums. He’s not good on the phone; he needs to see people’s faces to know what they’re thinking, to understand their intentions and emotions, and even though he’s known Louis for so long, he’s not an exception to this rule. “That sounds really amazing, mate.” He smiles and ruffles his hair, first to one side and then to the other. It’ll need a haircut soon. He hasn’t had one since before the tour and now it’s getting long again. 

“We have a table there for the night you come here,” Louis says. 

“Oh,” Liam says. “We’re at the studio the next day though.”

Louis makes a weird noise that sounds like a hiss and a hum at the same time and that Liam knows means nothing but ‘bugger this, we’re set to party, Liam.’ “Don’t even say it,” he starts and then says, “Okay, hold the line for a moment, my food’s at the door.” Then there’s the clatter of the phone being set down before Liam can say anything. He closes his eyes, trying to hear something, but can’t make out anything until Louis picks up the phone again and continues, mouth obviously full, “Been eating so much take-out food since I moved out.” 

Liam snorts a bit. “Your gut won’t thank you for that decision.” 

“Shut it, Payne,” Louis huffs. “My gut and I are perfectly happy.” He stops for a moment and Liam waits, knowing he’ll continue again in a moment, which he does. “It’s a bit odd without Harry. Sometimes I come home and I expect him to be there. Maybe I’m a bit bonkers.” 

Liam smiles. “No. But you have a spare key to his flat, don’t you?” 

“Oh, yes, I do.” Louis hums. “I visit him sometimes. But I don’t want to bother him.” 

It’s obvious what he wants Liam to say so Liam just laughs. “And I’m sure sometimes you do bother him, but I’m also sure he misses you.” He sighs and adds after a beat. “I miss you, too. All of you.”

“Good,” Louis says, chewing. “Good because I hope this’ll make you get to London faster. Also, where are you staying?”

Liam has no clue yet. He thought he was going to stay with Zayn, but then Niall sort of moved in there. “I don’t know,” he says and it sounds a bit more sad than he actually meant it. 

“With me it is then! You even get the master bedroom.” Louis makes a cheerful sound.

“Alright,” Liam says with a smile. “Thank you.” 

 

ii. 

Niall doesn’t rent a flat in London, mostly because he thinks it’d be a waste of money, but also because Zayn offered up his spare bedroom. It’s good, too, because Zayn doesn’t mind Niall bringing home fast-food - like Harry does - and his apartment isn’t all style and no substance - like Louis’. He has enough space and lives centrally enough for Niall to find his way around without getting lost too much. 

There’s a massive plasma screen and Zayn’s entire movie collection to wade through. Zayn’s couch is awesome too - he has this huge array of pillows of different shapes and sizes so that no matter what mood you’re in, you’re always able to find a good spot somewhere, somehow, with enough space for five boys to sit comfortably even. 

Zayn also collects records, so sometimes when it’s his day off, Niall will go through them, listening one by one and putting them back so Zayn won’t notice that he had his hands on them. 

When they’re all off, he wanders London in sunglasses and hangs out with Harry in the London Fields, drinking cocktails from plastic bottles. He meets up with Liam at the gym and tags along on Louis’ shopping trips. But here in Zayn’s flat he feels most comfortable. It smells familiar and Niall likes getting up with Zayn in the mornings, too early, to watch him smoke his first cigarette of the day out on the small terrace. 

He’ll sit on the windowsill, legs drawn up in his boxer shorts, cradling a cup of milky tea, while Zayn sits in his chair, watching the street below; Zayn is all quiet in the mornings because he’s never quite awake when he drags himself out of bed. His hair is always down and almost in his eyes, tank top hanging off him loosely as he smokes and drinks coffee. It’s the most silent he is all day - before his mind has caught up on all the things he needs to think about, before he’s ready to dive in and live and laugh - and Niall likes it, the papercut silhouette of his profile against the very early light of dawn. 

He tells Zayn about this and that, about that one new song that he wrote that he’ll suggest for the _next_ album, how he saw this brilliant bright blue guitar the other day and how he’s going to buy it, because he doesn’t buy much else, so it’s alright, isn’t it? He tells Zayn about his days off, too, and how the apartment is really quiet when Zayn’s not here. Zayn listens intently, lashes heavy against his cheeks, smoke curling from between his lips. 

If Niall didn’t know him he’d think he was sleeping again, but he knows that Zayn will remember every single word come evening when they’re curled up on the couch - sometimes with Harry or Liam or Louis - and it’s Niall’s time to be all quiet and tired. 

Zayn sleeps with his bedroom door open, so whenever Niall can’t sleep, he slips inside without waking Zayn too much and crawls under the sheets where Zayn makes space. It’s not often, but sometimes Niall finds it hard to sleep now that there’s no bus drone or breathing from the next bunk or the noise of people seeping in through too-thin hotel walls. With Zayn breathing quietly next to him, it’s easier. For Niall, Zayn makes a lot of things easier. 

 

iii.

When Harry comes home, Louis is sitting on the couch in the middle of a pile of crumpled up sheets of paper and chocolate wrappers, a writing pad in his lap. Harry didn’t exactly invite him over, but he has a spare key and likes to pop by once a while. He’s barefoot with his toes wedged under his thighs, looking as though he _wants_ to look serious and busy, glasses and all. The six empty bottles of Corona on the table are but a minor disturbance in an otherwise perfectly staged scene. Harry stops in the door for a moment, then wanders into the kitchen area, shrugging off his blazer to drop it on a barstool on the way. 

“Hi,” he says, sticking his head in the fridge; Louis has ordered Chinese again and the leftover packages sit next to the veggies Harry bought for tonight’s dinner the other day. He grabs a bottle of cider, uncaps it and sits at the middle counter. Louis finally looks up and gives him a look like he knows exactly that Harry is trying to figure out if he can freeze the eggplant or if he’ll really have to toss it, and then says, “I’m ignoring you, by the way.”

Harry takes a sip of his cider, considering, then shrugs. “Okay.” Maybe Mary from next door needs some eggplant; Harry hates letting food go to waste and maybe feels like there is something fundamentally wrong about ordering in when you’ve got a perfectly fine array of dinner ingredients just waiting to be cooked even if you’re anything but lacking the cash to eat out every night. 

“You’re okay with that, then?” Louis continues; he sits up, back straight, fingers curling around the notebook he’s holding. “My blatant ignoring of you?” 

Harry’s had a hard day; the studio session took longer than anticipated and now it’s almost seven. He knows exactly why Louis is angry with him and also why he’s here on his day off, but he doesn’t want to go on about it because there’s no sense in going back to the point where Harry needs to justify himself and Louis can continue victimizing himself. So he just shrugs and continues sipping his cider, leafing through one of the TV magazines on the counter. 

“Oh, and you’re ignoring _me_ then?” Louis continues. He’s doing a pretty shitty job of ignoring Harry, Harry thinks. Louis isn’t good at subtleties. He wants Harry to ask and he wants to elaborate greatly on the whys and hows and then eventually he wants absolution. But Harry’s heard it all before, back at the studio the night before when Louis had a fit the size of a thunderstorm. 

“I wouldn’t ignore you, Lou,” Harry says. When he looks at Louis, his resolve crumbles like a sandcastle during high tide. Louis always looks so small when he’s curled up like that, when his hair isn’t gelled up to make him taller, when he’s got his glasses on and is in shorts; he’s been looking smaller in general for a while now even though he’s been pushing weights like a mad man. Maybe it’s because Harry’s grown so much. “You know we appreciate you, and we need you,” he continues after a moment. 

Louis’ lips tighten as though somebody strung a thread through them and pulled. “We appreciate you,” he imitates and then unfolds his legs and stumbles to his feet, hopping on one leg to remove a sticky note from the underside of his foot, and takes off his glasses. “This is all complete bollocks.” 

“Please,” Harry says. “Can we like, have a pint and sit on the balcony and be normal?” He slides off the stool and grabs his cider. “Honestly, Lou.”

“Don’t _honestly_ me,” Louis says. He grabs a half-empty bottle of Corona and takes a swig, giving Harry a look. Now that they’re both standing up, Harry can see him wobble even more. 

“You might want to sit down,” he says and takes a few steps, grabs the bottle from Louis’ hand and ushers him to sit on the arm of the couch. He bumps his forehead against Louis’, not quite gently, and holds him there because he can. “Did you come here to get drunk?”

“I brought my own beer, thank you very much,” Louis says. Louis’ flat downtown is huge; he has got it all - the glass fronts, the terrace, the perfect sundown over London. Harry has none of these things; he’s got the Fields, however, and a flat that’s actually lived in, which is why Louis keeps coming over. 

“Will you stop being cross with me?” Harry asks. 

“No,” Louis says, but he fits his arms around Harry’s neck and pulls him into a hug, holding on tightly. He smells like Corona and expensive cologne, a bit sharp like sweat and salt and tiredness. 

“It was easier when we still lived together,” Harry mumbles, and it was. They were synchronized like twin stars; only three months were enough to kick both of them out of orbit. 

“I make it difficult sometimes,” Louis mumbles; he presses his nose against Harry’s collarbone, his lashes tickling Harry’s neck. 

“You do.” Harry laughs a bit and shakes his head, squeezing Louis’ shoulders. “But it’s alright.”

***


End file.
